


Softcore Tourism

by I_am_THEdragon



Category: Gangpol & Mit (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Gratuitous internal monologue, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25968892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_THEdragon/pseuds/I_am_THEdragon
Summary: A short story based off the song 'The Softcore Tourist' by Gangpol and Mit, and the visuals that accompanied it in their live shows.





	Softcore Tourism

Directions? Directions. I need directions. My hotel must be somewhere around here. I’ve been out of the airport barely fifteen minutes and I’m already lost. What do I do? I could just ask one of the locals. I _should_ just ask one of the locals. If only it was that easy. I barely speak the local language, and even if I did, I’m not sure I could just walk up to someone and _ask_.

I fumble with the map I picked up before I left the airport. I knew there was a reason I instinctively stopped by that tourist centre. The sound of the sheet unfolding and flapping in the lightest breeze is far too loud. Oh no, everyone must be looking at me now!

My hotel room, when I finally reach it, feels a bit more secure. I check my bed, the plumbing, and whatnot, before unpacking my belongings. I don’t want to waste this trip. This time must be different. This will be the trip in which I finally let loose and simply _enjoy myself_ for once.

I can see a few other tourists around, maybe I’ll just follow what they’re doing. After all, I don’t want to accidentally go and do something I’ll regret, do I?

I left a bar before finishing my drink, and this is why.

I wasn’t familiar with this bar. I wasn’t familiar with this town. I wasn’t familiar with the entire country I was in. Don’t get me wrong, I do as much research as I can before setting off on my travels, but it never feels like enough. I never feel like I’ve come prepared.

From the moment I walked in, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. I tried to avoid eye contact as much as I could, since I didn’t want anyone to think I was being rude and staring, but I could have sworn I was the centre of their attention.

_“Oh God.”_ I thought. “ _Have I done something wrong? Did I walk into the wrong bar? Or can they all just tell I’m a tourist?”_

I tried to calm myself down.

_“Of course they can tell I’m a tourist, I stand out like a sore thumb! It’s very obvious that I’m not from around here_.”

As I approached the counter, the bartender gave me a warm smile and greeted me. This man meant me no harm, I’m sure, but I was terribly nervous. I considered backing out right then and there, but I was already at the counter. It was too late to back out now. Who approaches the counter at a bar, or anywhere else for that matter, then immediately changes their mind and leaves?

I glanced at the drinks menu. There were so many different exotic drinks, I was quite overwhelmed. That’s not to say I hadn’t already been overwhelmed before that point, mind you. I had little clue what anything on the menu was.

I wanted the devil in me to urge me on, to say _“try one! You might not know exactly what it is but you might enjoy it!”_ But as always, that inner devil was dormant, suffocated beneath anxiety and doubt. Now, I know there’s nothing wrong with being a cautious, good-intentioned man, but there are times when deviation is just sort of… Needed.

Noticing how long I was taking, I decided on the spot to order a simple fruit juice. With every syllable that escaped my lips, so too fell away more and more of what little of the local language I knew. By the end of the order I was a stuttering, incomprehensible mess. Despite this, the bartender seemed to understand my order. I don’t even want to imagine what he must have been thinking about me, though, having had to listen to me butcher his language.

I paid for my drink and left the counter, looking around for a seat as I walked cautiously through a small crowd of other patrons. Eventually I sat alone at an empty table. I almost considered sitting with a lone local and sparking up a conversation. Perhaps I could learn something interesting, or even make a new friend! The idea was shot down in my head barely moments after it took flight. I could barely speak the local language, even less so when trying to actually talk to the locals, and it wasn’t like I had anything interesting to say anyway.

I sipped gently at my drink. It was alright, though perhaps slightly more bitter than I had anticipated. I wondered if I should have tried something a little more… Alcoholic. Maybe that would help me loosen up a bit, or at least take away this edge that had been growing from the moment I walked into the bar.

“ _No!”_ I thought. “ _That’s a terrible idea!_ _I could do something I’d regret.”_

I continued sipping the drink, trying to ignore the curious glances from the other patrons in my peripheral vision. They were all still watching me.

I felt that at any moment, someone would say something, and it would be directed at me. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to face whatever they were thinking about me. In an attempt to stave off any unwanted confrontations, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began to speak into it as if I was having a conversation.

“Hello? …Oh, hello! …I’m doing well, and you? …Yes, yes, of course…”

I’m not sure how convincing my act was. By now the bar was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot. Though it had only seemed warm when I had entered, I was now beginning to sweat. Both my hands and my voice were growing shaky, so I quickly ended my imaginary phone call and slipped my phone back into my pocket. I wondered why I was suddenly so shaky. Nerves seemed like the most obvious reason. I’d been feeling terribly nervous since I walked in to buy this drink.

My drink. I’d barely paid attention to my drink until I sat down at my table. It tasted slightly bitter. I didn’t even know what fruit it was. A terrible thought crossed my mind.

_“Has anyone dropped something in my drink?”_

With that thought came a rush of dizziness, as my heart began to beat faster and faster.

_“Oh God it’s kicking in.”_

My hands trembled as I began to feel swelteringly hot. I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my skin.

_“Someone’s drugged me.”_

I turned my head back and forth to scan the crowd. With each movement of my head came another wave of dizziness. I struggled to slow my breathing as panic set in. I had to get out, and fast! My legs felt like jelly as I tried to rise from my chair. I just hoped they’d last long enough to get me out of the danger I was surely in. Nausea set in as I backed away from my empty table and abandoned fruit drink.

Making my way back out through the crowd was difficult. In the short amount of time I’d been at the bar, I could have sworn it had grown nearly twice as busy. On top of that, I felt incredibly lightheaded and could barely focus. I kept bumping into people, only being able to muster shaky whispered apologies to atone for it. They were all staring at me more than even now.

By the time I was out of the bar, I was drenched with sweat and felt like I was about to vomit. My head spun wildly as I trembled, struggling to gather my bearings. At any moment I would collapse and be left vulnerable to whoever had drugged me, and of this I was sure.

Breathing heavily, I began walking as briskly as I could down the street. As shaky and lightheaded as I was, I could still move rather quickly. Glancing behind me frequently as I made my escape, I could see everyone staring at me. I caught their stares in my eyes. They were not malicious, they were… Concerned. But why?

I began to slow down, even as my heart still felt as if it was at the mercy of an out-of-control drummer. When I noticed my own hyperventilation, I focused on slowing my breathing. Dizziness still plagued me, but my nausea was quickly subsiding, leaving in its place a devastating realisation.

I knew this feeling. I hadn’t been drugged. I’d fled the bar in an anxiety attack.


End file.
